


Raised You Better

by AnnaNocturnal



Series: Requests and Challenges [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aggression, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bittersweet Ending, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Heartache, Humiliation, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Omega Dean, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Public Claiming, Public Humiliation, Spanking, Supernatural Kink Meme, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaNocturnal/pseuds/AnnaNocturnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Stanford. Sam discovers that Dean's been hiding his omega status all of his life. The Alpha takes this as a personal offense, and publicly punishes him. When he attempts to claim Dean, Dean decides he's had enough. He thought he had raised Sam to be a better Alpha than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanshal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanshal/gifts).



> **Prompter** : livejournal - sanshal  
>  **Community** : livejournal - spnkink-meme  
>  **Prompt** : [LINK](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/96405.html?thread=37258645)
> 
>  **Kinks** : a/b/o, alpha!Sam, omega!Dean, public claiming, biting, heat, humiliation, spanking, exhibitionism
> 
>  **Warnings** : dub-con

Dean was good at pretending. He pretended a lot of things. He pretended that he and Sam had a snowball’s chance in hell of finding their dad when it was becoming more and more obvious by the day that they didn't. He pretended that after Jessica’s death Sam _wasn't_ just running on hate-fueled adrenaline and had really let go of his apple-pie dreams; had really come back to hunting, to Dean. He pretended that they were all gonna make it out of this doomed mission, that it would finally be over, that the sky would dawn bright and sunny one day and the Yellow Eyed Demon would be dead and all would be right in the world. He pretended there was hope for them all.

But most of all, Dean pretended he wasn't what he really was. Pretended, like he had since he was fourteen and had hit his first heat, that he wasn't an omega. 

When he had started pretending, it had been for good reason. Sammy was only ten; too young to protect himself, vulnerable, all rosy cheeks and baby fat. If all those bad things out there found out that Dean, the eldest son of the infamous John Winchester, was nothing more than a heating bitch, they'd come for him and Sammy. John agreed, and immediately after his first heat, which he had rode out in a motel room in the middle of nowhere while Sammy spent the week with Bobby, Dean started on the suppressants. They weren't meant to be used long-term, but they didn't need to be. Just until Sammy was old enough to take care of himself. 

Dean had never breathed a word one way or another to Sammy about what he had presented as. Never claimed to be anything. But when Sammy assumed that he had presented as a beta, without heats or a knot to suggest otherwise, Dean didn't correct him. 

Four years later, Sammy popped a knot. So then Dean kept pretending because Sammy didn't need to be distracted on a hunt as his Alpha instincts roared at him to protect Dean. He swallowed down his suppressants every day when his little brother wasn't looking. He would tell him when he was older, when he had more of a grasp on his instincts. In the meantime, Dean tried to raise his baby brother to be a good Alpha, to be what an omega would need him to be one day; raised him strong but sweet, nurtured in him that vicious need to protect the weak, that adamancy about fairness and right. And Dean thought that he would be a great Alpha, found himself wishing that he had a mate like that, that he could _ever_ , in the life they led, find a mate and achieve that sense of balance, of completeness. 

But then Sammy had started that college shit. And Dean paused every morning before he took the suppressants because he knew that if Sammy found out, he'd stay. Wouldn't be able to leave an unmated, unclaimed omega on his own, unprotected. Ultimately that thought made him feel lower than dirt, and it was the same thought that made him drop the tiny white pill onto his tongue and toss his head back to let it slide down his throat. He wouldn't manipulate his baby brother like that; wouldn't use his Alpha status against him to keep him at Dean’s side, no matter how bad he wanted him there. 

Sam and John’s fights got worse; words becoming more biting, cruel; old wounds constantly poked and agitated, kept exposed and raw as they festered. John would look at Dean, asking him silently to do it, to pull the trigger that would cripple Sam, to impart the knowledge that would effectively muzzle his youngest son. But Dean never spoke, never stopped pretending. 

And then the door slammed one last time and Sam was gone. Dean finally stopped taking the suppressants, his body overtaxed and weary from too many years of them, and within days his first heat in eight years ripped through him, setting his nerves on fire and robbing his vision, his sane mind and he screamed and cried and begged, ripping his nails on the door of Bobby’s panic room as Bobby himself and John sat upstairs, their own nerves on edge every time the sounds ripped through the air. 

The heats after that had been less intense but left Dean no less vulnerable, wracking his body like clockwork twice a year. Each time he was sealed in the panic room, once even leaving a hunt early to make it there on time, calling his dad from the road as he passed the sign that told him he was entering Sioux Falls, felt the first rushes of slick, the first spikes of fever. 

When John had disappeared, Dean had just finished a heat cycle. He battled with the decision to go get Sam, ask him for help, pull him away from that perfect normal that he had built over four long years. Then he grappled with the decision of whether or not to begin taking suppressants again. Ultimately he couldn't, couldn't pay the tax they placed on his body. Besides, he had every other hunter, every other monster and creepy thing fooled. Two weeks out of the year he'd have to dodge Sam, but other than that he could pretend, could fool his little brother without the pills. 

And then Sam had said he wouldn't be sticking around that long anyway. So there was really no need for them. But Dean had been pretending he didn't miss Sam, pretending he was doing fine without him, that letting him walk away and forget that Dean and the hunt existed hadn't torn the older man apart the first time. Pretending that sure, he could do it again. 

Dean was good at pretending; so good that he even fooled himself sometimes. And then when the reality hit him, it hit with a vengeance. Because it had been nearly impossible to let Sammy go the first time; had nearly torn him apart, destroyed him. And he wasn't sure he could do it again. 

He had thought about telling him then, revealing his status to keep his brother with him, to stop the Alpha from leaving him again. He had almost stopped pretending; had been about to. 

But then the world went insane and Dean was rushing into the apartment building to drag Sam out as his eyes stayed fixed on Jess. Jess, on the ceiling. Jess, burning. Jess, her eyes wide and accusing as they stared at Sam. 

And then Dean couldn't tell Sam; couldn't add one more problem, one more upheaval as his little brother’s world collapsed. Sammy had built his normal life in the model of the Tower of Babel, and Dean telling him the truth now would only further confuse their language, make it harder for them to work and relate in the day-to-day. Dean cared about his brother too much to add one more stone to the rubble. 

Sammy was broken; torn apart in ways that Dean couldn't imagine, deep in his soul. And Dean couldn't blame him. He had raised him to be that kind of Alpha; to protect and nurture and take it personally if harm came to his mate. And sure Jess was beta, and sure Sam hadn't claimed her yet, but he had planned to, and really that was all the same, wasn't it? 

So Dean had raised him like that, and now he would stay quiet, would keep pretending as Sammy reaped the hard-won fruits of his older brother’s labor and suffered for it. 

It was nearly a year later when Dean’s stone finally joined the rubble. They were so close, _so damned close_ to finding their Dad. Meg had as good as sworn—for what that was worth coming from a demon—that the eldest Winchester was alive. Not that that helped anything; they had no idea where they were keeping him. 

Dean was agitated. Not just by Sam’s readiness to believe that their dad was dead, though that was what he had snapped about out loud, but by his rapidly-encroaching heat. Like clockwork, he knew he had only a matter of hours before it became too obvious. Maybe until morning. _Maybe_. 

Their dad was more important. He'd have to risk it; let the chips fall where they may and deal with the fallout—the anger and hurt and surely many chick-flick moments—with Sam later. 

He sighed, resignation making his shoulders sag. “Maybe we go to Lincoln; start at the warehouse where he was taken.” 

“C’mon, Dean.” Sam looked skeptical. “You really think those demons are going to leave a trail?” 

The kid had a point. They needed to come up with a definite plan, find something concrete. Especially if Dean was going to risk it all, expose everything he had been hiding from Sam for over a decade, forgo getting to Bobby’s on time— 

“You're right,” he muttered as an idea occurred to him. “We need help.” 

They started toward Bobby’s, the needle of the speedometer edging up to eighty, ninety, and on up as Dean stopped paying attention to anything but the road. They had to reach Bobby’s; had to get there _fast_. He'd worry later about what to tell Sam when he sent him on to find their Dad on his own while Dean holed up in the panic room. 

They almost made it. Dean almost made it. It started slow, with Sam scenting the air, a confused look on his face as Dean’s fever spiked, the darkness of night hiding the heat flush from Sam’s eyes. Sam’s body reacted on instinct, his own powerful scent filling the cab of the Impala, pulling a rush of slick from deep inside of the omega. 

“Sammy—“ Dean’s voice wavered and choked in his throat as a low growl issued from the Alpha. 

“Pull over.” The command was short, clipped. 

“Listen man—” 

“ _Pull the fuck over, Dean._ ” This command was a rolling growl, issued through clenched teeth. “Don't make me tell you again.” 

The Impala slowed as Dean steered onto the shoulder, coming to a lurching stop. He waited, the silence heavy, pressing down on the scruff of his neck as pure rage rolled off of his little brother. 

“Get out of the car.” Sam’s voice was deathly quiet. “Put your hands on the hood and wait for me. _Don't fucking move_.” 

Dean did as he was told, trembling as his mind tried to buck instinct. He tried to calm himself, tried to soothe his hindbrain with the knowledge that he raised Sammy; he raised a good, gentle Alpha. Sam had done this, told him to get out of the car, to wait outside so that he could regain control over himself. Sam wouldn't want to hurt an omega, even if he was angry— _especially_ if he was angry. He had raised Sammy better than that; had raised him right. 

Despite telling himself all of this, despite replaying the reassurances on a loop in his head as he waited, when Sam opened the door and stepped out into the night something deep in Dean’s baser mind flinched, screamed and told him to _run run run never stop running never look back_. 

But he tamped it down, held his position, engine-warmed metal under his hands and headlights silhouetting his body, putting him on sharp display as cars flew by on the highway. 

He felt Sam approach him rather than hearing him over the growling engines and rushing wind wake of cars passing only meters from him. Felt the anger and rage rolling off of the Alpha, kicking up a storm of conflicting instincts. Run—stay—cower—beg—scream—stay quiet—run—escape— _hold fucking still_. Obey. _Alpha_. 

Sam was behind him, his cold hard gaze fixed on Dean’s bowed form. His lips curled over his teeth. “How _dare_ you?” His voice was a menacing snarl, drawing a whimper from the omega as he stepped closer. “How dare you hide this…like it's not my right to know? Like you thought it was acceptable to trick me into thinking you weren't a heating bitch.” 

Dean’s heart shattered at the insult, at the person he cared most about, had fought hardest to protect all his life, reducing him to his baser role. He choked put a dry sob, his head falling to his arms on the hood of the car, disgusted with himself as he felt a warm rush of slick leak out of him, darkening his jeans for Sam’s predatory gaze. 

“You're _mine_ , Dean. It's my fucking birthright as Alpha.” He leaned forward, hard chest pressing against Dean’s back, body heat and scent causing the omega to arch into him even as he tried to fight it. “How dare you try to keep that from me?” 

Sam's hands were pulling at Dean’s jeans, yanking them down roughly. Humiliation joined the fever of heat, crawling up Dean’s chest and face, setting his body aflame as he was suddenly, shamefully exposed to the passing traffic. 

Sam was talking again, his voice barely registering in Dean’s mind through the haze of heat and shame. “Could've been different; Dean. Could've taken you nice and slow; knotted you and filled you up, bred you as you came on my cock. But you lied to me; stole that from me. So now I have to put you in your place; show you who you belong to, show everyone whose _bitch_ you are.” 

The first time Sam’s open hand landed on the soft skin of Dean’s backside was a sudden, sharp sting that the omega couldn't immediately identify through the rush of panic and humiliation coursing through him hard on the heels of the need of heat. The second blow, hard and focused, finally brought the realization forth: Sam was spanking him, punishing him in full-view of anyone driving by who would happen to bear witness. 

He scrambled to escape, his legs tangled in his jeans and boxers hindering his speed, and Sam’s hands gripped his hips hard, yanking him back into place. 

“Do _not_ make me chase you down,” the Alpha growled sharply. 

Dean whimpered, trying to force his fevered mind to focus. “Please, Sammy, don't—” The rest of the plea was choked off as a third blow landed, abrupt and burning pain shooting up through Dean’s nerves and into his spine, curling his back in pain. This was no light, teasing spanking. This was intended as a brutal punishment, and in that respect Sam was succeeding. 

Dean lost count of the number of times Sam’s hand landed, raining down pain on his ass, thighs, and even once over his slick-coated entrance. He wasn't sure what number blow finally brought the tears forth, wasn't sure how many after that he endured as cars sped by, sometimes slowing to gape as they passed, never stopping to interfere. Because Sam had been right, according to the rules of the world, Dean was just a bitch, and it was Sam’s birthright as Alpha to punish him; too keep him in line, show him his place. Even Dean’s own body knew it, wave after wave of slick appearing, running down his thigh as everything in him screamed for the Sam to mate him, claim him, make him a good little bitch for his Alpha. 

When it was finally over Sam ordered him into the passenger seat. Dean sat carefully, trying to find a position that wouldn't send excruciating shocks and hot licks of agony shooting through him. There was no such position, however, and every bump in the road felt like it was tearing Dean apart, splitting skin and muscle, through the long, long ride to Bobby’s.


	2. Part Two

When they arrived at Bobby’s, Dean bolted. The anger and aggression rolling through Sam had been a near constant on the ride back. It had been miserable, but it had allowed Dean the acclimate, to adjust to the tension and the invisible pressure at the back of his neck that accompanied it. It allowed him to quiet his hindbrain, tamp down the omega instincts, and form a plan with his less baser human conscious.

He ran past the rows for cars, past the large chained dog napping on the hood of the wrecker, and up the stairs to the front door. There wasn't a lot that Bobby could do by way of interfering with another Alpha attempting to stake his claim, but Dean knew that if he could stay close enough to a competing scent—as embarrassing as that may be—he could buck Sam’s long enough to put a stop to all of this. 

The older man turned when Dean came skidding into the kitchen, catching himself on the edge of the table as he heard the front door open and shut once more behind him, announcing Sam’s arrival in the house. 

“You’re cuttin’ it close, ain't ya, son?” 

“Bobby I don't want—” 

“Dean!” 

All three of the hunters spoke at the same time and there was a beat as they each took in the other’s words. 

Sam was the first to speak, his anger directed at Bobby. “You've been helping him hide it from me?” 

Dean squirmed, guilt setting in his stomach at the realization that he had dragged Bobby into this even more than he had anticipated. “Sammy…” 

Sam rounded on him, eyes alight with fury. “Get upstairs. Wait for me. When I get up there I want you ready and presenting.” 

Dean felt the shock wash off of Bobby at this pronouncement, let his instincts latch onto it rather than Sam’s anger. 

“No!” He spat the answer, anger and hurt coursing through him. “No, Sam, I'm not doing that. Fuck you!” 

Sam looked taken aback, his anger faltering for a moment as Bobby’s scent swelled with pride, bolstering Dean on. “You wanna know _why_ I hid it from you, huh? Wanna know how I _dared_? It was for you, Sam! It was always because it was best for _you_. I poisoned my body for years with those fucking suppressants so that nothing would come after you when you were too young to defend yourself, so that when you presented you wouldn't be distracted by me and get hurt or killed, so that you wouldn't have to stay with me, so that you could go off to college and live your goddamned apple-pie life! I did it all for _you_ , and every time I thought about telling you I stopped myself because it was so goddamned selfish and you deserved better, Sammy!” 

The words were flowing forth now, the years of pain and silent suffering fueling them. “And I did it happily, Sam! Raised you to be strong and protective and kind so that you could have anything in this goddamned shitshow of a world that you wanted. I beat down my own nature, my own needs, pretended that they didn't exist and that I wasn't damned near killing myself with suppressants to do it. All so that you could be happy and safe.” 

“Dean, I—” 

“Shut up, boy.” Bobby’s voice was rough as he stared at Sam. 

Dean continued, unable to stop now that he had gained momentum. “And when you came back I was so close to telling you; to being selfish for _once_ and just telling you so you wouldn't go back to school and back to Jess and leave me again—and then Jess died. And you were…God, Sammy, you were a mess. And I was supposed to tell you then? Heap more crap on your life?” Dean swallowed hard. He looked down, unable to meet Sam’s eyes as grief flashed through his eyes at the memory. “What you did, Sammy…” 

There was a pause as he searched for words. He had never, even to himself, given voice to that nagging thought, that feeling that rolled beneath the surface of his fierce protectiveness and love of his little brother. “I'd've given you everything, Sammy.” He was choking on his words now, his eyes burning as he fought to keep his voice strong. “You could've had it all; I'd've let you. You didn't have to try to take it…” 

He shook his head, turning away as Sam sat, horror seeming to wash over him at Dean’s words. 

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath and opened his mouth to finally give voice to the what had been bothering him the most, since the night before. “I thought I raised you better than this, Sammy.” 

His words were met by silence as Sam’s shoulders hunched, his head hanging down in shame. And then Dean’s feet were carrying him back out of the house, to the Impala. He would find somewhere to ride out his heat before it got too intense, and then he would move on. Alone this time. For good. 

He couldn't take care of Sammy anymore. His heart couldn't take it. 

** ~~~ **

After that day in Bobby’s kitchen, after Dean took off, after the bitter edge of disappointment in his voice at the kind of Alpha that Sam had turned out to be, after Sam’s world fell apart… 

_“I thought I raised you better than this, Sammy.”_

_You did_ , Sam wanted to force out around the lump in his throat. God, he had. Dean had done everything he could, and Sam had failed him miserably. Guilt twisted and clawed at him, shame washing over him and nearly making him ill as he considered what he would have done if Dean hadn't stopped him. 

After that, Sam didn't see Dean for four years. The apocalypse came and went, the brothers working to stop it from different angles, their paths never quite crossing, no matter how many times Sam tried to catch up to the omega. 

When it was over, when everything was righted and the world was back to spinning safely on its axis and Lucifer was back in the cage and the population slept without threat of the horsemen or demons or any of the nasty things that had been dragged back to Hell with the devil himself—that was when Sam finally saw Dean again. 

It happened like the old adage swore it would; when Sam stopped looking, when he least expected it. He had been sitting at a coffee shop where he was supposed to meet Madison, a pretty beta he had been seeing, when something told him to look up. And there he was, across the street, climbing out of the Impala. Sam was half on his feet before he realized it, ready to go to him, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, for a second chance to prove that he was the Alpha that Dean had raised… 

And then the passenger’s door opened and Sam felt like he had been punched in the gut, all of the air in his lungs suddenly gone, as an Alpha stepped out, turning to smile at Dean as he shut the door. 

The new Alpha was a serious but gentle-looking man with vivid blue eyes and dark hair. He wore a plain business suit under a tan trench coat, his neat buttoned-up appearance in stark contrast with Dean’s worn jeans and leather jacket. As Sam watched, he approached Dean, tentatively wrapping his arms around the hunter and pressing a light kiss to his forehead. Dean shifted, and Sam’s eyes fell on the ridged scar at the base of his neck; the claiming mark. 

He barely looked over as Madison arrived and took the seat next to him. She reached out, her hand covering his. “Who’s that?” 

He swallowed hard. “Someone I hurt really badly a long time ago.” 

She smiled sympathetically. “You could probably still apologize; make it right.” 

Sam felt his heart clench, watching as Dean and the Alpha disappeared into a shop. He shook his head. “No, it's been too long—I lost my chance to fix it a long time ago.” 

Madison was quiet, her gaze soft and understanding. “He looked happy.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, his heart swelling as he realized she was right; he had never seen his older brother look like that. “Yeah, he did.” 

  
**The End.**  
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a prompt you'd like to submit? Click **[here](http://girlgotagun.livejournal.com/8537.html)** and leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do!


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